The Unchaste

Sweet Epistle

London’s sparkly finger threaded into Delilah’s loosened ones gently, like an old friend which it never was; yet this time, Delilah allowed it and embraced it with a beam. Breathed, the charm of the city glittering down her body like never before_ so new and so ancient a city and an everlasting river by its side, Delilah was as if here for the first time in her life. All to keep her mind off from a certain country up the north, the wind and sleet of it, the harsh, abrasive weather of it, the mother and the brother and a castle with its lord.

Charlotte was positive Delilah had fallen off the heights and entertained a concussion head-on. Delilah laughed at that, only assuring Charlotte more of the alleged quandary. It was hidden delight for Delilah to mystify Charlotte thus, though only in parts. She was herself confused.

Had she changed?

“You, dear cousin, are not alright.” The countess observed with narrowed eyes, as Delilah petted Celestine casually. Celestine, the blackest feline in perhaps the whole locality, purred lazily, rubbing against Delilah’s feet. “You smile! And talk!”

“How scandalous!” Delilah muttered impassively, wringing the end of her skirt out of Celestine’s canines. “Next, you would accuse me of seeming happy.”

“Which you do!” Charlotte charged indignantly. “And you accepted Mrs. Packletide’s invitation to ball!”

“Yorkshire was drab.” Delilah answered with safe apathy. “I couldn’t help but wish for a society, now that I am at it. Should you not be glad, Charlotte? There was a time you used to bully me into attending tea-parties.”

“That was different altogether. Relevant.”

“How precisely is a bunch of gossiping ladies relevant?”

“See! Sarcasm, Delilah! Oh dear, what has happened?” Charlotte sounded greatly distressed. “What have you done? Did you abed a man? Are you with his child? Traumatized?”

“Charlotte!” Delilah sneered, glancing around with a mortified look, color flaming her cheeks. “Have a care!”

“You can tell me, Delly. I shan’t hate you.”

“Thank you but I will keep that coupon for if such state of affairs befalls.” Delilah left her chair and helped Charlotte to the seat. “It is not I, but you are with a child. Rest, Charlotte. Nothing has happened. I only feel improved, seeing you and Christopher after so long.”

“Oh yes?” Charlotte clearly knew better.

Delilah had almost forgotten how intimidating her cousin could be, given such banters. She only smiled convincingly. “Yes.”

“God, she smiles so!” Charlotte covered her eyes with her forearm and Delilah scowled as the woman almost paled to the extent of fainting. “Must have been a violent blow.”

Torn between frustration and amusement, Delilah simply nursed Charlotte into a sleep. Three months into it, Charlotte had gained color on her skin and lusture in her hair. It was a revolting contradiction to the end this whole conceiving-ordeal was fated to. Pain and shrieks and blood and sweat in return for a mewling little bundle. Delilah had been an unfortunate witness of one such delivery in the neighborhood. It gave her dreadful shudders even today.

It always would.

***

Picking at the non-existing thread at Christopher’s starched sleeve, Delilah cautiously held onto her brother-in-law, her eyes subtly fixed to that corner of room where that stranger stood. Charlotte was talking away about something of the English Textile trade, a strategic subject matter that held interested folk’s close and unwanted ones at bay. Not many ladies find the subject of Vietnamese embroidery fascinating.